


Bird In The Hand

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Angst, Choices, Episode Tag, Freedom, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laeta is stuck in darkness, but is determined not to fall to mud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird In The Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the _War Of The Damned_ episode 'Wolves At The Gate.' Contains references to events that happened during _Blood And Sand_.

 

 

Her dress was filthy. Laeta's laugh became almost a hiccup. She was in chains, locked away, while outside all was cheers and drunken laughter. Slaves revolted and now revelled in crushing Rome beneath free feet. Yet she worried for clothing. It was all she could do, without falling to despair.

 

How many of Laeta's household had survived? She'd talked to as many as had been allowed whenever she was dragged from cage. Some had looked scared, others happy. Those who'd held sway over slaves before were not treated kindly now. Laeta had offered quiet words and a cool hand to hold. She missed her body slave. She missed her husband.

 

Spartacus had said her people would need her. She had seen the truth of his words. Words were powerful here, binding slaves to the cause, offering comfort or threat. She would not see her people dragged down into the mud. She would not.

 

The door opened and a female slid in. Laeta remembered her from that awful day when the square filled with bodies. She had stood with sword and satisfaction. She carried a bowl now, her sword at her hip. She did not smile.

 

“Thank you,” Laeta offered, as bowl was placed at her feet.

 

She was too well-bred to let go of manners, even in squalor. She was not an animal. The woman stared for a second, she appeared hewn from stone, body shaped by scars. Yet there was beauty still so present in her. Laeta wondered who she'd been and for whom.

 

“Are my people well? Do they suffer?” she asked quickly, before the woman left.

 

“They are Spartacus's people now,” the woman countered, voice like a whip’s crack. “And he will do with them as he sees fit.”

 

Laeta lifted her chin, her back straight with fire that chains and hopeless grief could not wholly diminish. “He saw fit to name them my people. I wish them to receive kindness.”

 

“No matter who they ground beneath heel?”

 

Laeta wished she could stand, but chains made sure her legs could not rise. Her eyes blazed instead, her fire growing only greater. “All were cared for and favoured within our walls. This way lies only blood and ruin.”

 

The woman blazed with her own fire and stepped forward with clenched teeth. “Favour means little compared to choice of living and loving as heart desires.”

 

She turned her head, revealing a deep jagged scar. “My Domina swore no man would touch me. She took to laying with a gladiator who held my heart. When our love was discovered, it was not favour I was shown.”

 

Laeta’s mouth moved in wordless horror. Her hand lifted, but did not touch. It was not her place. The woman watched her out of hard pained eyes, but her body sung with defiance and pride. Laeta felt something similar stir darkly in her. The story, and her own reaction to it, sickened her.

 

The woman swept her with final searching glance, then left as abruptly as she’d arrived. Laeta’s breathing was harsh and loud in the darkness for many moments. But her hands did not tremble when she lifted the bowl and drank her fill.

 

_-the end_


End file.
